Bees,
Nanjing

In cloisonné fields,
emerald greenhouses cling-wrap the earth
and incubate the foetus grain.

At the toll gates, bees rap and rattle
my face painted on the glass eyes of the coach.
Bees propel themselves 

at my steely hive with zeal, 
their pharyngeal meal meant to ease
the propolis seal stoppering my throat.

Welcome Queen, incarnate, they hum.
Nanjing––plum blossom city––
opens its fist for you.

Hanshan Temple,
Suzhou

Gilt flames squall. 
Incense pours into carved 
and fecund air.

From the pagoda, 
temple faces squint 
with faithful irises of coin.

Three blows, the bell's belly 
induces fortune's triplets.
A fourth strike 

renders me 
fortune's orphan. 
I leave, a monk,  

robes––dissolved peach–– 
flirting with fallen
sycamore floss.

One Thousand People Rock,
Suzhou

In the Dynasty of Song,
one thousand men lost their voices
on a stone octave.
Still ringing in the spring rain of peonies, 
one thousand voices sink my skin.

White sepulchral birds in unison,
chant through bony, fluted beaks. One 
thousand egrets howl a mating dirge,
calling soul from stone 
to nest.